


Deal with the Devil

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Reaper76 [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Broken Promises, Deal with a Devil, Established Relationship, Friendship, Guilt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Monsters, Promises, Survivor Guilt, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16549337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: '...But my hands are tied.'There is only so long that Jack Morrison can endure the limitations placed on him by the U.N., only so long that he can continue being a soldier in name alone and with the world crumbling beneath him, even a deal with the devil can sound like heaven.





	Deal with the Devil

    Jack was fuming as he stormed along the corridor, only long months of learning to keep everything locked behind a mask stopping him snapping as people greeted him as he passed. They didn’t deserve his ire. These men and women were part of Overwatch, invested in the organisation and its goals just like he was and just as vulnerable to the U. N’s interference as he was, and the last thing they needed was their Strike Commander taking his temper out on them. And so, he nodded in reply to each greeting, not quite able to manage a smile and he could see the concern, the sideways glances and he sped up, needing to get away from it all, if only for a few minutes. It was a relief to reach his office, even if he had come to hate the room more and more over the last few months, barely waiting for the door to slide shut behind him before he locked it firmly, activating all the security methods available, sealing himself off from the world and letting out a sigh of relief when the display flashed up to say he was safe or rather at least granted the illusion of safety.

“Fuck it…” He rarely allowed himself to curse, but now he couldn’t stop it slipping out as he yanked off his coat and flung it on the couch in the corner before moving across to his desk, carefully not looking at the piles of paperwork waiting for his attention. Instead the moment he was settled in his chair he found himself burying his face in his hands, his anger giving way to exhaustion. It had been bad enough before the Uprising, but ever since the strike team had brought the situation in London back under control it had been hell and more than once he had considered just walking away from it all. After all it wasn’t as though there weren’t talented people that could step into his shoes, in fact they would probably do a better job that he had and yet he recoiled from that thought, it sounded too defeated.

_And yet…_

   The communicator on his desk buzzed to life and he snarled at it, lifting his head and staring at the display, softening for a moment as Ana’s picture flashed up. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to her, hell, he didn’t think he could even bear to speak to Gabe right now and after a moment he reached out and silenced the call, waiting for her to ring off before switching it the device off completely. No doubt he would get an earful for that later, preferably when it didn’t feel like one more thing would tip him over the edge or maybe that was what he needed. Maybe if he was pushed, then he could let himself fall, rather than clawing at the edges for a job he didn’t even know if he even wanted anymore. Not that he had ever really wanted it, but he had tried, gods had he tried to make it a success and where had that got him?

Loved and hated by the public in equal measure, to the point where he could no longer keep track of where he stood in their eyes.

Trapped by regulations he no longer believed in.

Vilified by the press.

Suspended.

   The last one dragged a broken groan from his lips, fury and defeat coiling in the pit of his stomach as he reached down to his pocket and yanked out the paper he had stuffed in there earlier. His fingers trembling slightly as he smoothed it out as best he could, not that it would make any difference, he could have ripped the blasted thing in half and it wouldn’t change the fact that this was really happening. Suspension for two weeks whilst the U.N. investigated his actions with regards to the Uprising in London, as if they didn’t already know what had happened, what he and his team had done. It was splashed across every news channel, every holo-feed and there was no escaping it. But whereas the public and the press had been hailing their actions, the politicians saw it in a very different light, after all he had violated the British Prime Minister’s decision not to request aid, moved across International borders without permission…and saved hundreds of lives.

    He snorted. The suspension was nothing, it was just so that they could show they were doing something and so that the media couldn’t claim he was using his ‘reputation’ or rather what remained of it, to influence the investigations. He couldn’t really complain, not when it meant that eyes were on him rather than the agents who he had sent in. No, it was the terms that he was going to have to agree to when he resumed work in a couple of weeks that had him on edge, because he knew that even if he had thought that his hands were tied before, it was going to be nothing in comparison to the restrictions they were going to slap on him now and he growled under his breath. He had hated it before, chafed at it and to be honest he had been glad when Tracer’s words had given him the strength to break through the rules binding his actions. That wouldn’t be allowed to happen this time, because the U.N. and Petras had made it clear that if he tried, it would be his people that paid the price for his disappointment, and whilst they hadn’t said it outright he knew that it would be Gabe who take the brunt of the price for any future ‘rebellion’.

   Could he do it? Could he keep the job, keep trying to make a difference?  Part of him knew that he could bear the restrictions, that whilst he would hate every second of it, he would be able to do it. Especially if it meant protecting the others, although he could easily imagine the colourful words he would face if they knew what was going on. Angela had already hauled him over the coals for protecting them over the mission in London, although she hadn’t been able to argue when he had pointed out that she was essential to the medical division and that it would hurt more people for her to be removed then him. No, he could endure the restrictions, the reactions of those around him…but did he really want to?

    In the past, he would have said ‘yes’ without hesitation, would have happily, or rather naively knuckled down and obeyed because that was what a soldier did and as long he was protecting others that was all that mattered. That Jack Morrison had died at some point, lost beneath the countless headlines, the never-ending reports, the feeling of Overwatch beginning to crumble beneath his feet. It hurt to admit, but he knew that he couldn’t be that man anymore and it was that which had him reaching for his drawer, hand shaking slightly as he pressed it to the secure lock and felt the warmth of the scanner reading him before it clicked open. Moving aside the papers and what looked like one of Gabe’s beanies he reached for the tiny device at the bottom, flicking it on and wincing at the high-pitched whine it admitted before the lights shifted to blue and he swallowed hard at the sight…so they were listening.

   A couple of minutes later the lights on the device turned green and he sighed with relief, wondering what they had thought he was going to be doing in his office to bug it in the first place, before pulling a face at the thought of what he was going to do.

“You might as well come out,” he murmured, voice carrying easily in the silence of his office and for a long moment nothing changed, but then there was a rough chuckle and he looked up just in time to see a dark shape materialising from the far wall. He watched intently, one hand inching down to his side arm as it slowly coalesced into the form of a man, the skull-like mask seeming to grin at him from across the room and not for the first time he was tempted to just put a bullet in the centre of it’s forehead.

“You knew I was here?”

“I know when you’re watching,” Jack confirmed, slowly forcing himself to move his fingers away from the gun and instead setting his hands on the desk, refusing to show how nervous he was about what he was about to do. “Besides, you said I should contact you when I was ready but left me no means of reaching you.”

“I could have bugged the room.” The other man’s voice sounds like gravel rolling against glass and it grates on his nerves, but not as much as the smirk he can hear in the words. It’s nothing like Gabe’s, always tinged with warmth and affection, instead it’s mocking and hungry and he wanted nothing more than to make the man disappear, but he knows that’s not a choice right now. Not when this man potentially has the power to offer him a way out of this situation, to give him the power to make sure his hands are never tied like this again and so he bites back the urge to tell him to leave, instead adopting a mild tone.

“Maybe, but you already know about this,” he tilts his head towards the device in the drawer. “So, it would be pointless.”

“There are different ways of bugging a room.” A tendril of mist rises from the other man, curling around him for a moment before snaking off and hiding itself underneath a chair, fading from sight although Jack knows that it’s still there lurking and for a moment all he can do is stare at the spot. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t unnerved by the display, or by the reminder that the man in front of him isn’t quite human, but he doesn’t let it show, slowly shifting his attention back to the mask when the other man chuckles. “If you’ve called me out it must mean that you’ve made a decision, Strike Commander.” It’s not a question and Jack is already beginning to regret this, but he nods all the same. “And?”

   Jack hesitates for a moment, voices that sound remarkably like Ana and Gabe playing in the back of his mind, urging him to reconsider, to stop rushing in. But then his gaze darts to the paperwork, to the device that only moments before had proven that someone above him doesn’t trust him anymore despite everything he’s done, and he sighs, all but whispering the words a few months ago he had thought he would never say.

“I’ll do it.”

_This job, he was starting to realise was going to be the death of him. It had been a shock to look at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the lift and realise just how grey he was going, the lines around his eyes which had once come from laughter, now deepened with age. With the SEP enhancements still going strong it shouldn’t have been showing, hell, Gabriel was older than him and yet wore it so much better with only the faintest hint of white appearing. Sighing he turned away from the mirror and glanced down, only to find his scowl deepening as his attention returned to the files he was carrying, every one of them marked urgent…just like the other hundred or so already lying on his desk and not for the first time he wondered why he was still doing this, and why he hadn’t run for the hills the first time they had mentioned this promotion._

_I’m a soldier._

_It sounded laughable even in the safety of his own mind, because the only battles he fought these days were with the never-ending piles of paperwork and bureaucrats. If it wasn’t for the frequent trips down to the training ranges and the nights he spent sparring with Gabriel between the other man’s missions, then he would probably be worse than useless._

_The temptation to slip away to visit Gabe was high, but he already had half a dozen messages chasing him for reports that he wasn’t sure if he had read or not and he knew that it would only get worse unless he tackled them now. Still it didn’t silence the urge, and his shoulders were bowed as he made his way towards his office, mumbling a greeting in return to those he passed, realising with a dull ache that he no longer had the energy to care about their lives. Not long before he would have stopped, inquired about their training or missions, commented on events that he knew were coming up, asked about their families, but now he felt disconnected, and he couldn’t help but recall Gabe’s dig that some days he would be better off letting his statue do his job. Maybe he was right…_

   _Stepping into his office he knew at once that something was out of place, immediately shifting the files into one hand so that he could reach for his sidearm with the other, even though a quick glance confirmed that the security panel hadn’t been tampered with._

_“You don’t need that Strike-Commander.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once and for half a second Jack wondered if the exhaustion and weight of the job had finally broken him, but then he spied the shape forming near his desk, eyes widening at the sight of mist…or at least what looked like mist swirling in and out before slowly forming into what could only be described as a man, although the loose coat and eerie, skull mask left some doubt._

_“Who the hell are you?” He didn’t question how they knew who he was, aware that his face was plastered everywhere these days and not always for the best reasons._

_“I’m not a threat,” the man said mildly, or at least Jack assumed it was supposed to be mild, the rough voice making a shiver work its way down his spine. He was afraid he realised, fingers tensing on his weapon, although he slowly took a step into the room, letting the door slide shut behind him even as a voice that sounded remarkably like Ana was screaming at him for being an_

_idiot. “You get through my security without detection,” he pointed out, eyes scanning the office for any other threats, noting with a scowl that the man…thing…had been in his desk, the signal jammer he kept concealed in the top drawer now sat on top, and his fingers tightened even further on the gun. “I think that alone qualifies you as a threat.”_

_“If I wanted to kill you then we wouldn’t be speaking now.”_

_“Because that encourages me to trust you?”_

_“I’m not saying you should trust me.” Jack blinks at that and he finds himself tilting his head curiously, not quite ready to lower his weapon, but sensing that there is a least a kernel of truth in those words. In some ways, the man’s words remind him of Gabe, of the times he’s watched the other man worm his way through walls of mistrust…and that alone should be enough to have him on guard, but instead he finds the similarity oddly reassuring him and he can’t help but question his own judgement even as the other man chuckles and adds softly. “Yet.”_

_Jack knows that he shouldn’t be entertaining this. Just the fact that the man had made it through the security on his office undetected is reason enough for him to end this, to call for back up, but instead he finds himself moving forward and circling around to the other side of his desk although he keeps his gun trained on the other man._

_“You didn’t answer my question. You seem aware of who I am, it would be polite to return the favour,” he points out, earning another rough chuckle and for a moment he thinks the other man isn’t going to reply._

_“You can call me Reaper.”_

_For a second, he wants to laugh, it sounds like the ridiculous kinds of codenames that he’s heard McCree and Genji tossing between themselves during briefings. But then he things back to the strange mist…to the mist that he realises he can still rising from the other man, little tendrils, barely noticeable apart from the fact that he now can’t look away and suddenly Reaper doesn’t seem like such a foolish name and he swallows. “Have you come to kill me?”_

_“I told you I’m not a threat.” Reaper growled, amusement gone, and he holds his arms out as though to demonstrate that fact, but the mist seems to be dripping off him now and it does nothing to reduce Jack’s apprehension. A fact that Reaper seems to realise as he slowly lowers his arms and sighs. “I was sent to make you an offer.”_

_“Sent?”_

_“That’s what you focus on?” Reaper sounds startled and Jack feels a perverse sense of pride in having caught him off guard, although he’s not sure that he understands. “I was warned that you were different, but…”_

_“I prefer to know who’s after my head.” It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to assassinate him and he doubted that it would be the last time, fighting the urge to rub at his shoulder, the scar from his last encounter with an assassin aching with remembered pain._

_“No one is after your head.” Jack merely arches an eyebrow, not about to believe that or accept the attempt at evading the question and Reaper sighs. “As for who sent me…there are others like me.” That is enough to have Jack’s nerves on edge again, because the mist if growing thicker now and he can’t quite stop another shiver…there are more people like this? It takes him a moment to realise that Reaper has continued. “Mercenaries, I guess you could call us.”_

_“Mercenaries?”_

_“It is as good a term as any.” Reaper shrugs, before focusing and even though he can’t see the eyes beneath the mask…assuming there are eyes…Jack finds himself recoiling under the feel of that gaze, feeing as though he is being examined in a way that he hasn’t since the early days of the SEP when every breath had been monitored and judged. “That’s not important. You are.”_

_“Me?”_

_“Overwatch is failing.” Jack flinches at that but can’t find the words to argue. He knows it, has known it for a while, but he’s never admitted it aloud and hearing it spoken aloud in that strange, rough voice makes it worse. “It is coming apart at the seams, and in time it will fall.”_

_“Is that a threat?”_

_“It is a fact.” Reaper is completely unperturbed by his growl, or the way he lifts the gun which he had unintentionally lowered at some point. “You already know this.” He did. Regardless of what Gabe and some of the others occasionally accused him of, he wasn’t blind, each crack in Overwatch, in Blackwatch, in their old team. He saw it all, registered it, monitored it and yet was helpless to do anything to counter it because his hands were tied at every turning. “I can untie them.”_

_Jack hadn’t even been aware that he had spoken aloud until that point, and he wanted to curse. When had he slipped so much to the point where he would talk about something so sensitive in the hearing of a complete stranger? When he would admit to something that he hadn’t even admitted in the safety of his own mind yet? And yet he can’t focus on that…every part of him focusing on those four simple words and the possibility they offer._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I can give you the power to break those ties,” Reaper is practically purring now, his word alluring and Jack hates the fact that he wants to hear more…that part of him is ready to take whatever is being offered, anything to banish the helplessness that has gripped him for too long. “Powers to be the solider you are meant to be.”_

_“Why?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Or rather it wasn’t what he should be asking, the part of him that is still tied to the job, to his duty is screaming at him to call for backup before this can go any further. However that urge is dulled by a longing so strong he can practically taste it, and despite himself he finds himself lowering his gun. “Why offer this? What do you get from this?”_

_“Does it matter?” Reaper asks knowingly, and Jack wants to protest that it does matter, but the words won’t come and instead he finds himself glancing down, feeling the dark gaze following. “There are other reasons, myriad reasons. And on a personal level I would like to see Overwatch continue, but it can’t as it is now and those in power are unlikely to change…but you can.”_

_“And the cost?” Jack hadn’t missed the fact that he hadn’t answered that part of his question, lifting his gaze. “No one gives away power for free.” SEP had nearly destroyed them, kept them segregated and unable to see their families for months on end…this job had torn him apart…all power came at a cost, he couldn’t believe that this would be any different._

_“The cost is you.”_

_“Me?”_

_“You would become something more and less than human,” Reaper is fading before his eyes, mist swirling around him and Jack instinctively brings the gun up again, heart hammering in his chest, although he doesn’t pull the trigger. “Can you pay that price? For the power to protect what is precious for you?”_

_“I…”_

_“You don’t have to answer straight away.” The mist is around him now, the mask barely an inch in front of his face and yet he still can’t fire. “I will be waiting when you have your answer.” The mist brushed his cheek for a second, cold and warm all at once and then Reaper was gone, leaving Jack pointing his weapon at an empty office and already asking himself if it was a dream._

   Reaper hadn’t reappeared since then, but a few days after that initial meeting the messages had started arriving. Date packages that should have never made it through the firewalls. Information that not even Blackwatch could get its hands on, and nothing but the image of a skull for a signature. The information had been damming and terrifying all at once, evidence that the crumbling of Overwatch was spreading further and faster than he had ever thought possible. That the peace they were trying to create was being threatened from more sides than they could protect against. He had tried desperately to disprove it all, trying to quell the part of him that longed to call Reaper back and accept whatever the hell it was that he was offering, but at every turn he had only been able to prove what the other man had sent him, and then London had happened. He’d heard whispers, it was why he had turned a blind eye to Gabe sending out his agents despite Blackwatch being suspended. It had been his final test, if the Uprising happened then he would know, and he would have to make a decision.

   It had and then had come the sanctions, the suspension, the threat to those he wanted to protect and the news that his hands would be so strongly tied that he wouldn’t even be able to blow his nose without those in power knowing…

“I’ll do it,” he repeated, stronger this time, meeting the eerie gaze without hesitation. Reaper is silent for several minutes just studying him and Jack is wondering if he has said the wrong thing. Was he supposed to hold out? To turn down the power? But then Reaper chuckles, only this time it is honest amusement and the mist settles around his form as he moves towards the desk.

“It will hurt.” Reaper whispers, the words curling around Jack but he doesn’t let himself flinch. He’s experienced pain before. Hell, that was what SEP had been about, tearing himself apart to become stronger and yet it hadn’t been enough. “It will tear you apart.” Was there even enough of him left to be torn apart? He had lost so much of himself to this job that he was no longer sure, and did he care? What he was hadn’t been enough, but if he could become something more. Reaper is right in front of him now, voice soft. “But it will give you the power that you need to stop that,” he pauses, tilting his head towards the files, the reports of the casualties and damages of the uprising and the reports of countless other groups rising against Overwatch, against peace. “From happening.” It’s like a siren song to Jack, and even though a small part of him is still whispering that he should stop this, that it might not be worth it, he ignores it and nods resolutely.

“I’m ready.”

“So, it would seem.” He can hear the smile in those words, tries not to shudder. I’m making a deal with the devil, it’s not the first time he’s thought it, the offer constantly haunting his thoughts over the last few weeks, but it’s never felt so evident as it does right now. “It will take time…the process if not pleasant and I doubt even you would be able to perform your duties during it.” It is a taunt, Jack unable to stop himself from growling, remembering painfully the days when he had thought that he could do everything himself, but he forces the irritation back.

“Not a problem.”

“Oh?”

“I’m on suspension for two weeks, whilst they run ‘investigations’,” Jack makes no effort to hide his anger at the situation or what he feels about those investigations, fairly sure that Reaper knew all this and just wanted to force him to say it aloud, reinforced by the laughter than follows and he scowls at the other man. “I trust that will be enough time?”

“I’m sure it will be.” Reaper’s answer is too glib, and Jack can feel himself already beginning to regret this, even as his longing for the offered power seems to intensify. Something must show in his expression, because Reaper focuses on him again and this time there is no trace of amusement in his body language, just a strange intensity that is just as disturbing. “Are you sure about this? Once you do this there will be no going back.”

“Are you worried about me?”

“No.”

   Jack snorts at the speed of that response, but quickly bites back his amusement as he holds the dark gaze. “I’m sure.” Jack wasn’t a fool, any naivety that he’d had left after the Omnic Crisis had well and truly been knocked out of him since he’d become Strike Commander, he knew that at some point he was going to regret this decision, hell part of him already was. But, his eyes darted to the crumpled paper on the desk, the words leaping out at him…Suspension…All future decisions regarding deployment of agents and resources to go through a committee… and his hands curled into fists against it and he bowed his head, the weight of the job pressing in on him once more. As much as he might regret what he was about to do, what he was about to become, it would pale in comparison to doing nothing and his eyes were hard as he lifted his head once more to meet dark eyes. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
